Last night, I was trying to watch TV strictly for fluff value and trying not to listen to "A Day of Terror" on ABC. What, it already has a name...?

Well, it's certainly better than "The Tragedy", or the names they give to wars, such as "Operation Desert Tortoise Turd" or similar. Which, come to think of it, would be a good name for Iraq, considering its speed and efficiency. I don't think it even has a name any more.

But I don't know, I wasn't there. I'm part of the problem, remember...? The immoral minority. 'Cuz Jesus says it is wrong to kill. AHEM.

So back to the fluff. Thoughts. Not important thoughts. Nooo. Not at all. Nice, happy, shit-commie thoughts, at least until the commercial for Shoe Pavilion came on. Then I saw them.

BIRKENSTOCKS. A scourge on the face of the Earth. Why won't they die? I hate them. Especially since people who wear them generally do not have the most attractive or well-groomed feet in the world. I hate the greasy-looking footprint that gets sweated into the footbed of these sandals. That is gross. And now they have the nerve to try to spruce those ughly birth-control fuckers up.

Do the people at Birkenstock (German for "Ugly As Sin") really think that by making them now in flowery patterns, that this makes them look more feminine? Because they are sorely mistaken. Even slapping Heidi Klum on them, and I mean, bodily, doesn't help. They are still uuuuuuuggglllly.

You can paint flowers on a rock, or roadkill - or hell, a PENIS, if you want. It still doesn't make it all that attractive.

I forget what else I saw on the idiot box that set me off but I'm starting to get violent so it's time to take my anti-psychotics now. The men in white coats say I have to. But I wasn't going to kill those people, honest. I was just planning to ambush them and destroy their shoes.

NUKE BIRKENSTOCKS.